Beauty & The Beast
by Pandora's Teapot
Summary: An alternative ending perspective of the Belle/Rumpelstiltskin story. I've woven in some themes from the Disney interpretation of Beauty & The Beast. Also, guest appearances from Jefferson and Nova. I make it a rule to read stories by those who give reviews, so please take some time to review my stuff if you like it! Thanks!


**Beauty & The Beast**

(Once Upon A Time / Disney Crossover)

By Pandora.

**1.**

Once upon a time in a faraway land, the wealthy owner of a quaint little pawn shop sat by the dim lamp-light of an electric lantern, surrounded by the mountainous shelves of dusty trinkets and curiousities. His keen eyes glistened as his gaze passed over the treasures, memories from another life even further away than here. He admired the warmth of the electric light, a glow more powerful than candlelight but completely and utterly un-magical in nature. So much was different here, it was true, and yet so much remained the same. He was still selfish and unkind, though without magic his characteristic glee at being so seemed lost. And there was of course that repulsive witch…oh, how slow 28 meagre years could feel without mischief and magic. But now, just as he had planned, the curse was quickly coming undone.

Jefferson was testimony enough to that. Only a few hours earlier he had been poking around the precious treasures in Mr Gold's shop, murmuring his madness softly under his breath as he searched. He had heard snippets of the Hatter's rambles, something about the perfect gift in return for shelter from the bitter cold. Mr Gold had watched Jefferson with curiousity until finally the mad man had approached and leant cautiously across the counter.

"Perhaps this?" he had whispered in a low tone as he handed Mr Gold an antique hair-brush. There was more question in Jefferson's words than usual, as though he sincerely sought his approval. Mr Gold took the brush and examined it, turning it over so that the soft bristles caressed the palm of his hand. A single, scarlet rose had been beautifully painted upon it, each brush stroke unique and thickly applied, the colours rich and deep. The long stem stretched down the polished wooden handle, every detail down to the dark veins of the leaves captured with care. He thought it was exquisite.

"It's junk, a common trinket probably painted by a common girl in some miserable life far, far away," Mr Gold sneered with a knowing smile. He had never much cared for the Mad Hatter.

"Ah, do not be deceived by appearances, old friend," Jefferson had warned with a grin, poking a long, skinny finger into Mr Gold's chest, "for beauty is found within."

"You sound more like an enchantress every day," Mr Gold mocked maliciously, swiping Jefferson's hand away from him, "or worse yet, a fairy."

"Were you always so…beastly?" Jefferson asked, tilting his head and pursing his lips as he stroked his chin, awaiting an answer. Mr Gold had dismissed him with a sly smile.

"Hmm, well, I suppose it matters not," Jefferson said with a melodramatic sigh, "one way or another, I can see there is no love in your heart. Why, look at this rose! Beauty captured right under your nose, the shining love of some, what did you say? Miserable girl? And you call it junk!"

"It's your money, Jefferson," Mr Gold said, uninterested in his mad ramblings, "are you going to purchase it or not?"

Jefferson stood tall and rigid for a moment, a wave of consideration crossing his expression that steadily turned to resolve. Slowly, he reached into his coat pocket, his eyes never leaving Mr Gold. When his hand emerged, two golden coins were clasped between his fingers and he flicked them onto the desk. Mr Gold met his gaze, questioningly.

"Those mean nothing here, Jefferson," he reminded the mad man.

"As I recall, they have never meant much of anything to a man with the power to spin straw into gold. Please, take them as a reminder of home. After all, gold for junk sounds like more than a fair deal, wouldn't you agree?"

"No," Mr Gold replied abruptly, tapping his finger on the desk expectantly. Jefferson sighed with exasperation, rummaging again in his pockets and slapping down a handful of notes before Mr Gold.

"Thank you," Mr Gold said with a smirk, "now, get out."

"As you wish," Jefferson said with a bow, "and I shall accept that moment of gratitude as a token of what you will truly be indebted to me for. Just…take us home."

And with that, he had left the shop with a determined stride, the little bell above the door tinkling loudly as Jefferson opened and closed it. At first, Mr Gold had dismissed the whole thing and gone back to inspecting his goods, but all too quickly the Mad Hatter's words began to replay like riddles in his mind, over and over. There was often method to Jefferson's madness, but he suspected that the steady weakening of the curse was affecting him more than usual. Even so, his behaviour had been mysterious, as though he was trying to tell him something without saying it. Well, Jefferson would have to wait.

First, he would deal with the Queen. The thought was like a sweet drop of honey mead in his dark soul as he unlocked the chest behind his desk where he had hidden the egg-shaped case. Cautiously, he glanced out the shop windows. Night was beginning to fall, there would be no more customers today. Eagerly, he reached for a golden key kept hidden in the draw and hastily thrust it into the latch, unlocking the case. There inside, bottled by his own hands, was the strongest magic in existence: true love. Carefully, he examined the luminous potion, its violet glow casting a soft light and warmth across the room. Everything was perfect, just as he had planned. There was no other magic in this world, but soon enough there would be. The sudden loud tinkling of the bell above the shop door startled him. Quickly, he slipped the potion into his coat pocket and snapped the decorated golden egg case shut, the lock clicking into place. He turned, concealing the tell-tale case back into the chest and locking it securely.

"Excuse me," came the soft, uncertain voice of a woman, "are you Mr Gold?"

"Yes I am," he replied sharply, turning to face the visitor, "but I'm afraid the shop is closed -"

**2.**

"Who are you, why are you doing this?" asked the dishevelled girl, her sad eyes frightened and questioning. He didn't have time to comfort her, only to pause a moment with sympathy. Miserable girl, but far from common, he thought. He wondered what kind of rare goodness and strength existed within her sweet and seemingly fragile form to see beyond the monster…to love and be loved by the beast.

"My name is Jefferson, and I need your help to do something that I can't," he explained gently, "there's a man, his name is Mr Gold, find him. All you have to do is tell him where you've been and that Regina locked you up. It's very important. Mr Gold is going to protect you, but you have to tell him that Regina locked you up."

He emphasised the point, watching her eyes as he repeated his words to be certain she understood. Everything depended on this. He was tired of waiting for hats to work and curses to break, he wanted to go home to his daughter and this girl, Belle, was his ticket. She was lovely, so much like his little Grace, it wasn't hard to understand her appeal. Here in this world, the girl had no idea who she was, with not even a name to call her own. She had been through so much, suffered punishments for no crime other than her naïve innocence and the love that had doomed her. It almost seemed unfair to send her back into it. But he had suffered too, and Belle had chosen her fate when she had chosen Rumpelstiltskin over her freedom, not once, but twice. Whatever happened to her, Jefferson reasoned, was her own doing now.

"Mr Gold will know what to do. Do you understand?" he asked. Belle nodded, still frightened but desperate for release from this miserable cell that had been her home for as long as she could remember. Whoever this tall, dark man was, he seemed to be trying to help her. Jefferson took her hand gently.

"When you find Mr Gold, offer him this," he instructed, placing a little wooden hair-brush in Belle's hand. She ran her fingers over the painted rose and smiled at its beauty. Her eyes sparkled for a moment and Jefferson was struck with a sudden realisation at why she had so often been called 'Beauty'.

"Tell him, 'in return for shelter from the bitter cold', and I promise you will not be turned away."

**3.**

He paused, fixed motionless in a moment of disbelief, certain that the brilliant glow of the potion had made the electric lamp light seem much dimmer than before. It was one of those strange, unpredictable tricks that magic caused when it was introduced to this world, and he knew that he had been more focussed than usual on his hatred for the Queen when he had looked into the true love potion. It was an enchantment, surely, an illusion before his very eyes. This wasn't what he was seeing, just what he wanted to see.

"I was, uh, I was told to find you," she said in a voice so painfully familiar that its sweetness was razor sharp, "and to tell you that Regina locked me up. Does that mean anything to you?"

The walking cane felt generously sturdy beneath his hand as he leant into it more than usual, grasping the desk as he stepped slowly around it. Impossible…he wanted to believe it, but refused. That would mean something worse than he had ever prepared for – years of believing that she was dead and the guilt that it had been because he had turned her away. He moved closer, hesitating, the sudden realisation of all the fine details and imperfections that illusions of enchantment lacked hitting him like tumultuous ocean waves. There was only one way to know for certain. Reaching towards her, he grasped her shoulder gently, pressing his fingers into the soft wool of the jacket that did nothing to conceal the ugly green hospital gown worn by institutionalised patients. He knew where she had been and what had been done to her. She felt soft and warm, just the same as always. Even the soft scent of roses that had always lingered around her in those long ago times remained.

"You're real," Mr Gold gasped, "you're alive. She did this to you?"

Belle considered him with both confusion and intrigue. She did not know this man, at least she could not remember if she did. She didn't remember much of anything to her great frustration, only the endless days, weeks, months, years of darkness and isolation. That tall, dark man had set her free, but he had told her that they would come for her again, only Mr Gold could ensure her freedom. Now, she stood before him, this man that she did not know who she had been promised would do so much for her, and remarked in amazement at the great love she beheld in his every motion towards her.

"I was told that you would protect me?" Belle asked searchingly, hopefully. She did not want to be left alone in this strange place that she knew nothing of. She did not want to be taken back to that dark, lonely cell where her only company was the sweeping sounds of the silent janitor's broom and the cruel, black eyes of the woman that peered in at her infrequently, but still too often. Tears gathered in the eyes of the man before her as he flinched with the devastating sting of her pleading. She wondered what she meant to him and wished that she could remember.

"Oh, yes! Yes, I'll protect you," Mr Gold swore as he engulfed her in his embrace. Belle closed her eyes, savouring the depth of human contact she had been denied for so long. Something stirred within her, a faint echo of a feeling that she grasped for, but couldn't quite reach. The frustration was more than Belle could bear. More than anything she just wanted to remember this Mr Gold and understand why he held her so desperately, his fingers clutching and stroking her tangled hair as though she were a precious treasure that might slip away at any moment, and why she felt that she could remain in his arms forever.

"I'm sorry," Belle interjected, reluctantly pulling away from him, her burning questions refusing to wait, "do I know you?"

The final, sealing blow. Mr Gold fought back his tears. After all these years of believing her gone, never to return, she had come back to him under the blanket of the curse, completely unaware of who they were or anything that had passed between them. But he had believed her dead long before the curse had been cast upon them all, the Queen had told him of Belle's demise at her father's hand. So, Regina had kept her from him all this time. If ever he needed more reason to destroy her, this was beyond the limits. He would make her suffer long and hard for this.

"No," he replied softly, "but you will."

He meant it. The last time they had been together, he had spoken harshly to her and she had vanished from his life. For so long it had been easier to rage, to believe that Belle had betrayed him to the Queen and that turning her away had been right. He convinced himself that he had been a fool to let himself be so easily blinded by her charms, for who could ever learn to love … a beast? But he had been blinded, or so he had thought. Love had given him the courage to let her go, he had never expected Belle to return it or even to come back. So when he had seen her that night from the tower, skipping up the path to his house, her cheeks flushed pink and her bright blue skirts fluttering around her pretty ankles, he should never have believed the things he had as he flew down the stone stairs to meet her. But he had. Never, ever would Rumpelstiltskin forgive Regina for telling Belle what she had and ruining everything.

But time had passed, the rage subsided while his love remained and he allowed himself to acknowledge those last words that she had spoken to him: all you'll have is an empty heart and a chipped cup. Regret grew inside him, just as she had said that it would, and he realised a little more each day how much he missed her. Each evening he went to the stone tower to gaze at the stars and to keep a vigilant watch over the little path through the woods that lead to his door, hoping beyond hope that one day she would return to him. But she never did. He fell into despair and lost all hope, until finally, the Queen came to call.

"You don't know?" the Queen had mocked, dancing around the hostility that emanated off her opponent, "ah, well! After she got home, her fiancé had gone missing. And after her stay here, her…association with you, no one would want her of course. Her father shunned her. Cut her off, shut her out."

"So she needs…a home?" Rumpelstiltskin had asked, a flicker of hope returning to his heart. He would have given Belle anything she needed, thrown himself at her feet and begged her forgiveness if only she would come back one last time.

"Ha! He was cruel to her!" scoffed the evil Queen. She revelled in the shadow of horror that cast over his expression, he could tell that she was enjoying it but he could not hide his concern for Belle.

"He locked her in a tower and sent in clerics to cleanse her soul with scourges and flame," the Queen pressed, smiling as she twisted her words like vicious daggers before delivering the final blow, "after a while she threw herself off the tower. She died."

"You're lying," Rumpelstiltskin insisted in a dark tone, clenching his fists in defiance of her words. He refused to believe it.

"Am I?" she challenged. And that had been it. He had not been able to find Belle, there was no reason for him not to believe what Regina had said, no matter how much he didn't want to.

"We're done."

As he remembered that day in the Faraway Land, Mr Gold knew what he must do. Belle would never suffer at the hands of the Queen again. She would never suffer because of him. He could see her confusion, the questions rolling in like a storm in her mind. There were no answers he could offer her that didn't come laced with more questions. So instead, he took her hand and squeezed it gently with a reassuring smile as he pressed a finger to her rosey lips.

"Hush now," he said soothingly, "everything is going to be okay."

Belle believed this man, although she did not understand why. For the moment, her questions were still and silent, content to simply feel safe. Mr Gold watched as she reached into her pocket and withdrew an object that she offered to him uncertainly, her bright eyes imploring him, begging to be protected from all the evil she had endured. She placed it in his hand, a little wooden hair-brush with an exquisite rose painted on it – a rose the colour of her lips with leaves as green as her eyes.

"Jefferson," Mr Gold gasped, suddenly aware of what his ramblings had alluded to. _Beauty captured right under your nose, the shining love of some, what did you say? Miserable girl?_ Suddenly the wretched lunatic seemed much more likeable than ever before.

"In return for shelter from the bitter cold, he told me to tell you," Belle offered. Mr Gold nodded as he gazed at her. He gestured towards a little chair as he led her to it. There wasn't much time, he had to act soon, but it had been so long and he wanted nothing more than this moment with her. As she sat shyly, he stood behind her and taking the wooden rose brush, carefully began to brush her tangled hair.

**4.**

It was like a gentle pulse emanating a single beat that washed over them all, and just like that everyone woke up. Mr Gold had felt it, he knew it had only been a matter of time. But for Belle, it was much more powerful. As they had made their way through the woods she felt the strange haziness she had always known in her mind suddenly lift and like a flooding river the memories had come surging back. The curse had been broken.

"Wait!" she called, but Mr Gold kept moving ahead of her.

"No, no, we're very close," he replied reassuringly, but Belle had stopped.

"Rumpelstiltskin…wait."

Mr Gold stopped and stood frozen in his place. It hadn't taken as long as he'd expected and she'd caught him off guard. How he'd hoped to have had this done before she awoke and remembered, now she'd have him cornered like this…powerless against her anger. Perhaps, he reasoned to himself, it was fitting. Her scorn was all he deserved after everything she had been through because of him. He could hear her soft footsteps approaching, and slowly he turned to face her.

"I remember," she said, an amazed smile blooming on her beautiful face with no trace of anger, hatred or spite to be seen. He watched her expression as her eyes flitted over him, hardly daring to believe what he saw there. Love.

"I thought I'd never see you again," she cried, throwing her arms around him and burying her face into his neck, "the Queen! It was the Queen, she -"

"Sh-sh-sh-sh," he crooned, stroking her hair as he cradled her, "I know."

"I love you," Belle wept softly by his ear. He tightened his hold on her.

"Yes. Yes, and I love you too," he promised, the words laced with apology, "there will be time for all that. I don't want to let you go, but there is something I must do."

Taking her hand, Mr Gold led Belle deeper into the woods of this other world, where the old trees grew tall and looked just like the ones she knew from home. But these trees stood in silence, their voices dulled without the magic of the tree pixies and other forest folk. They wove between them, the soft leaves of the ferns brushing against Belle's skin, how she had missed it. She tugged on Mr Gold's arm, stopping him so that she could draw near and nestle against him for a moment.

"Belle," he whispered, stroking his thumb across her cheek tenderly.

"Admit it," she insisted playfully, a reminiscent tone in her voice, "you're happy I'm back."

"I'm not unhappy," he replied, just as he had once before, and she smiled. He glanced ahead, a sadness glimmering in his eyes as they fell upon the wishing well. The old stone well stood at the centre of the woods, covered in coiling vines and sweet smelling flowers that blossomed amongst the thorns. This hadn't ever been part of the plan, if he'd known that she was still alive perhaps he'd have planned it differently.

"Belle, we're in a land with no magic," Mr Gold explained, "but I'm bringing it. Magic is coming."

"But why?" she asked, a disquiet etched into her expression, "the curse is broken, it's over, isn't it?"

"No Belle," Mr Gold said sadly, "as long as the Queen lives it will go on and on and on, forever. She will never stop until she wins, and if she wins there will never be a happy ending for anyone. Least of all for you or I. Without magic I am nothing, I need my power to defeat her. And magic is power."

Belle pulled away from him, anger tainting her at last as she glared at him.

"You may look different here, but you haven't really changed at all, have you?" she asked disappointedly, "you're still obsessed with power, still can't believe that someone could love you."

"Yes, dearie," he confessed, gesturing for her to sit with him on a nearby fallen tree, "I won't lie to you. I am not a good man, Belle. What the children in the villages sing of me is true: _today I brew, tomorrow I bake; and then the Princes child I shall take; for no one knows my little game, that Rumpelstiltskin is my name_. I am what I am, and without my power, I am nothing. Either way, I cannot be what you deserve."

"That's not true," Belle insisted, grasping his hands, "just look at you now, no magic at all and yet Mr Gold is the most powerful person in Storybrooke! You don't need magic or power, just love."

Mr Gold sighed with a shake of his head. Her belief was remarkable and touching, but belonged in a perfect world without evil witches, child-eating ogres, or blood-thirsty kings and queens. Not even in this world, where those things were absent, was she safe from the likes of Regina.

"Ah Belle, how do you think any of us got here? This very curse is the product of my power, I always intended for Regina to use it and made sure to look after myself when she did. There are things that were started before you came to live with me all those years ago, things that need to be finished, people who need to be found. How am I to protect you with love? Love alone is not enough," Mr Gold insisted.

"Is that how you lost him, your son?" she asked gently.

"No. When love wasn't enough, I found another way and I protected him. But then later, he wanted me to give up my power too," Mr Gold confessed ashamedly, lowering his gaze, "I couldn't protect him from that, no matter how much I loved him. He thought he found a way, here in this world, but…it didn't work out the way he hoped. I lost him…and without magic I cannot find him again."

The forest seemed to fall still around them, the hollow underground thundering with flowing water the only sound to be heard. A single crystal tear trickled down Belle's rosey cheek, glistening as it streamed its way down. She slid from her seat beside him on the fallen tree to her knees, clutching at his coat, her bright green eyes wide as they looked up at him.

"But with magic, it will just be like before," she wept, "how can you bring back the very thing that prevented you from letting me love you?"

Mr Gold brushed her tears away, the sorrow in her gaze more than he could bear. He reached into his coat pocket and withdrew the little glass bottle that contained the glowing violet potion. It seemed to sing with a harmonic hum as he placed it into her hands.

"With this," he answered. Mr Gold explained that the beautiful substance contained in the bottle was the strongest of all magic, the power of true love. Unlike the curse that had taken hold of him long ago, it was a pure and good magic, one that was not broken by true love's kiss, but strengthened. He told how the waters that flowed beneath the wishing well had mysterious magical properties, even here in this land without magic, to return that which one has lost. He paused for a moment to twine a lock of Belle's mahogany hair slowly between his fingers before telling the tale of his plan to come to this magic-less world that had swallowed Baelfire, to find him and defeat the Queen once and for all, and to use the power of the true love magic and the wishing well waters to return that which he had lost.

"The curse was created so I could find Baelfire," Mr Gold confessed, his eyes wide and sincere as they fixed on her, "but this magic I bottled and bought here to bring you back to me."

He leant down toward Belle, pressing his forehead gently against hers so that the tips of their noses brushed together, the memory of years of anguish catching deep in his chest.

"I thought you were dead," Mr Gold choked, "and I missed you so much."

Slipping her slender arms around his neck, Belle let him fall into her embrace and weep against her as she rocked back and forth gently. For endless months after she had been captured, she wilted in the dungeons of the Queen, wondering if he would ever come for her. Finally, she gave up hope and conceded that perhaps he hadn't loved her after all. The night before the curse was cast upon the land, Regina had come to her and spoken of the world she was sending them all to, promising smugly that she'd arranged accommodation for her where she'd be sufficiently forgotten. Before she had left, the Queen told Belle that she had lied to Rumpelstiltskin, that he believed her dead and that he would never come for her. And all night, Belle had cried and screamed, but no one could hear her.

"Please don't do this," Belle begged, combing her fingers through his hair, "we can find Baelfire another way, I'm sure. You told me once that all magic comes with a price, haven't we paid enough?"

The truth of her words struck him, but what was he to do? Mr Gold knew that there was no other way, he had spent the past twenty-eight years searching and exploring every alternative this world had to offer, but to no avail. And then there was always Regina to consider. He sat upright, a helplessness tainting his demeanour. Belle noticed, and thought to herself that he had never before appeared so beautifully human.

"Yes, you're right," he admitted, snatching up her hands and drawing her close to him, "all magic does come with a price. But as long as the Queen lives, you will not be safe from her. I hadn't expected you to be a part of all this, Belle. She will harm you to harm me, you are my weakness."

His eyes flitted over her searchingly, looking for a sign that she understood. It washed over her expression like the first rays of the dawn sun over the dark and sleeping land. She smiled with a soft laugh of joy, her eyes bright and shining as she threw herself into his arms, causing him to fall backwards into the moss and leaves. Mr Gold looked up at her beautiful face, still smiling down at him, her long hair falling all around him and brushing delicately against his face. Slowly, she leant down and pressed her lips against his. This time, there was no curse in the way, and when she finally pulled away he was serene and content to bite and nibble at the ends of her hair. Belle laughed.

"You really do love me!" she chimed triumphantly. Mr Gold smiled.

"Yes."

**5.**

A hollow whisper seemed to echo from deep inside the wishing well, breathing its eerie echo out into the woods. It stood at the centre of the forest, a stone monument forgotten but unforgetting, its mysteries pouring out from the waters that surged below like a poison cloud that made the trees recoil all around it. And yet there was something beautiful about the well, something giving and full of compassion. Belle wondered if perhaps the strange power of the well water to return that which has been lost had once been the magic of some good and kind magician, or perhaps the sad token of a forlorn nymph who had lost it all and yet held her broken heart together none the less. She wanted Rumpelstiltskin to find his son, but how she wished there was another way. More than anything – more even than returning to the dank, dark isolation of the Queen's cell – Belle feared his magic and the agonising pain of it driving her away from him. Once long ago, only weeks after she had been cast out of the Dark Castle, Belle had stumbled upon a heartbroken fairy sitting by a calm and quiet lake. The fairy had listened with a sympathetic smile as Belle listed all of the reasons she could think of to explain why Rumpelstiltskin _needed_ to choose his power over her. In the end, the fairy had stopped her with a gentle shake of her head.

"No magic in all the world will make your excuses real," she had said, sprinkling a handful of fairy dust into the water, "every woman in the land is obsessed with 'true love' but the truth is, that kind of thing is just an idea we build up in our heads. And we become blind chasing it."

The water had shimmered and rippled where she had dusted it, emanating a soft glowing light that was warm and engulfing. Belle had felt it all around her like a cloak shielding her from her own sorrow. Everything seemed perfect for a moment, like it had before she was turned away by her master. The light grew and grew, its warmth becoming hot, until at last it seemed to burst open and vanish into the dark depths of the lake water. The dim evening and cold air hit her suddenly after the intensity of the warm light, as did the sinking aching in her heart.

"That's what love is," the fairy explained sadly, "a blinding magic. It's not real. Don't make excuses for him, whoever he is. Believe that you deserve better than that."

"Wait!" Belle had called as the fairy began to fade away before her eyes, "what is your name?"

"Nova," the fairy replied with a smile, her bell-like voice a chiming echo as she disappeared, retreating away to her own melancholy tale of lost love. It faded into silence, and Belle found herself sitting by the glow of the fireflies, alone.

But she hadn't believed the sad fairy, not entirely. There were days when she had been locked away in the Queen's dungeon, lonely and without hope, and she had considered Nova's words over and over in her head. All her life she had waited for true love, always believing that one day she would find someone who could really see her as more than just Beauty. She thought she had found it, albeit in the most unlikely of creatures, but with each passing day a bitterness grew in her heart and she wondered if it was all just the girlish fantasies of princesses and ladies. And yet somewhere, deep inside, she knew it had been real. True love's kiss could break any spell – that is what the Queen had told her that day – and when she had kissed Rumpelstiltskin, the curse had indeed begun to weaken. She had loved him, and without doubt she believed he had loved her or else her kiss would have had no effect. That tiny, but brilliant flicker of hope in her heart was precious to her, and she had held to it dearly against all the misery and hopelessness that she felt.

Now, as she stood beside the wishing well, her fingers caressing the smooth stone bricks and tracing the fine cracks between them, Belle decided to trust in that flicker of hope again. She watched as Mr Gold placed the luminous bottle of true love magic on the edge of the well, securing it delicately between his fingers. With a deep breath, she gathered all her courage to do the most dangerous thing anyone in their world could do. But she trusted him. As he lifted the bottle over the well, Belle grasped Mr Gold's arm carefully.

"Wait," she pleaded softly, drawing near to him, "one day we will return home to our world. If you do this, will your magic there be the same as it will be here?"

"No," Mr Gold admitted, "I will be bound once again by the same curse."

Slowly, Belle let her hand slide down along his arm, cautiously slipping her fingers around the bottle. For a moment, they stood in silence, eyes locked together as they both held the true love magic in their hands. He wondered what Belle would do if he let go, would she smash it against the stones of the well or on the ground perhaps, spilling the last drops of magic in his reach into the dust? She held more power over him than she knew, if only he had had the courage to let her free him all those years ago…but then what of Baelfire? And there'd be no stopping the Queen from coming after them. With his free hand, he enveloped Belle's fingers. If she said no, if she asked him to stop, he couldn't. Not now. It was too late. He felt her exhale slowly.

"Do you truly love me?" she asked, her voice low and earnest.

"Oh yes," he confessed, "you know I do."

"I always thought that if the love you held for those dear to you is real, if it is true, it ought to take precedence over the need for something like power."

Mr Gold flinched slightly, afraid of what he thought she would ask of him.

"Belle, you can't ask me not to do this if I love you," he whispered, leaning into her, "it doesn't work that way in real life."

"Then make a deal with me," she offered, "bring back magic, defeat Regina and find your son, I'll be right here beside you the whole time. But then, when it's over and done, be prepared to give up your power if your love is true."

Belle let go of Mr Gold's hand and reached into his coat pocket where she had seen him slip the little wooden hair-brush with the rose painted on it before they had left the shop. She looked at it adoringly, remembering the first time she had seen it. Rumpelstiltskin had bought it down from the high tower where he hid his most precious treasures one day and showed it to her. The brush had belonged to the mother of Snow White and been the cost of her deal with him: a daughter with hair as black as night, skin as white as snow, and lips as red as a blossoming rose. In those days he had asked so little of gentle women who begged for a child when they had none. Magic always came with a price, he had reminded Belle as she admired the delicacy of the brush strokes. The good and kind-hearted queen had died giving life to the child she so longed for, and even now Snow White paid the price of her existence with tears and turmoil. That exquisite brush, painted by her own hands had been a mere token of her debt and her love. It had begun a story, and Rumpelstiltskin had bought it down to show her, because something deep within him compelled it. They were inextricably woven together, this quaint little object and lovely, brave Belle. She had dragged a chair from the table before him and sat upon it, loosening her long, mahogany locks of hair. Without a word she had placed the brush in his hand, offering a sweet smile that made her face glow radiantly with all the quality of her spirit that he had come to adore. At first he had been uncertain, hesitating as he slowly approached. But as the fine bristles of the brush touched her hair, weaving between each beautiful strand as he carefully brushed, he felt himself grow more and more at ease. He even dared once or twice to stroke his hand along the path following the brush, amazed by the silky sensation beneath his fingers.

"You don't know what you're asking," Mr Gold warned, grasping her shoulder firmly as his eyes pleaded his reluctance. But Belle insisted, holding the brush to her heart lovingly.

"Yes I do. Bring back magic, have your power and do what you must do. But when the time comes to return home, to the Faraway Land," Belle implored him earnestly, "you must swear that before we leave you will use your true love magic one last time to turn me into an enchanted rose as lovely as the one painted on this brush by the good queen."

Her green eyes looked down at the painted rose for a moment before lifting beneath her long, dark lashes to meet his astounded and uneasy gaze. Mr Gold shook his head slowly as she handed the brush to him, pushing it away gently. He could see that Belle had made up her mind and he knew her determination all too well. His attention never left her as she explained that the rose she would be transformed into must bloom only once and then begin to wilt. If he could learn the courage to give up his power and be content to simply love her by the time the last petal fell, then the spell would be broken. But if he could not, the rose would wither and die taking her with it, and he would be doomed to remain a beast for all time.

"I'm offering you my love or my life," Belle impressed, slipping the brush back into Mr Gold's coat pocket, "because if you cannot do this, then the love I bear for you will become a curse upon me…and I would rather die than suffer my life without you. You must swear to me that you will do it before we leave this land so that one way or another, I will never have to endure your curse again."

His hand slipped from her shoulder around her waist, pulling her against him as he buried his face into her hair. There was no doubt in his mind that she loved him, no one could make such a sacrifice if they didn't. He hoped beyond hope that she would feel the same if she got what she asked for – a powerless man, average and insignificant. The only way such a spell could be broken is by the true and honest desire in his heart to let go of his power. Then, and only then, would Belle return to her human form to free him from his curse with true love's kiss.

"Belle," he cried in a soft whisper, "are you sure?"

"It's like you said when you struck the deal with my father," Belle reminisced, her eyes closed as she lay her head against his shoulder, "it's -"

"Forever, dearie," Mr Gold interrupted, finishing his own words from long ago. Belle smiled.

"Yes."

"Deal," he agreed, letting out a deep sigh. He felt Belle's fingers loosen from around the potion bottle, her silent consent for him to change everything. A heaviness rose in his chest and Mr Gold lifted the bottle to look at the magic that radiated within. It was glowing just a little brighter than before, and he smiled, knowing that it was the effect of their love as they both grasped the bottle.

"I know I can give up my power, Belle," he promised, turning his gaze from the bottle to meet her glistening eyes, "because I know that I love you and it is stronger than any potion in any bottle."

With that, Mr Gold dropped the bottle of true love magic into the wishing well as he leant forward to kiss Belle. She met him half way, the sweet tenderness of her lips filling him with their own unique magic. He wrapped her safely in his embrace, certain he would never let her slip away again. As one kiss became many, the billowing violet cloud came rolling out of the well, accompanied by the eerie echoing voice of the wishing well. It drifted around them like smoke, twisting and writhing in the air. Belle clung to Mr Gold's coat and he held her reassuringly, stroking her cheek adoringly.

"Don't be afraid, my beautiful rose," he crooned, "let's bring back happily-ever-after."


End file.
